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Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingfandoms/pseuds/shippingfandoms
Summary: “Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”--It's been more than twelve years since they last saw each other, and they aren't quite sure why.





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“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,   
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;  
So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,  
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”  
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn

 

Perhaps it was always going to amount to this.

Claire doesn’t think about Raccoon City as often as she used to. But when she does, it’s sudden, like a gust of cold wind that comes out of nowhere.

Perhaps it’s the way that child held himself, or how some places smelled like of decay, or how a survivor’s skin rotted against bones and muscle. And then she’s back—to the nineteen-year-old who thought Chris was just being an ass, to the college kid who wasn’t supposed to experience the things she had.

She remembers the gun being pointed at her, how she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place—

—and the relief that came after, knowing she was not its target.

“You alright?”

It makes her a little sad when she thinks about it now. How warm Leon sounded. How kind. How their meetings were always cut short by explosions and chained doors.

But perhaps she should’ve known by then. Not just how Raccoon’s specter would haunt the rest of their lives, but their parting.

* * *

Leon doesn’t think about Raccoon City as often as he used to. But when he does, the memory’s faded, diluted by tragedy and the scent of whiskey.

He knows it’s probably not the best way to go about things. Hunnigan will be all over his case the next day, and Chris will too, seeing as they’ve begun conducting joint missions with the BSAA. But he really doesn’t care, to be honest—he’s just another cog in the machine, killing zombies and the next BOW that gets in their way. Some days he wonders why he even bothers.

But in between jobs, when he’s out at a bar feeling sorry for himself, he thinks about Raccoon and everything it stood for and why he hated it so. How it killed good people. How he couldn’t save them. How its secrets corrupted those in power.

How they took away him and Sherry.

“You okay?”

And suddenly he’s back—to the 21-year-old rookie under the government’s employ, to the landing pad where he first met Chris Redfield.

Claire looked kind, but so, so cold.

“Yeah,” he said, garbling the words in a way that betrayed how he really felt. But he couldn’t break down just yet. For Sherry. And now, for Claire. He looked at the tattered aircraft to see if there was anybody else there. “Is your friend here? The one in the email?”

She bit her lip, and at once he regretted asking.

“He, uh... he didn’t make it,” she said, voice as garbled as his was. Shit.

“Claire, I’m so sorry,” he said, apologetically. But even then he wasn’t sure how to take it—should he come closer, give her a hug, tell her everything was going to be all right? He felt glued to where he was, with legs as heavy as lead.

Instead, she tried to assure him, telling the same lies he did and keeping the same strong front. They were similar, he and Claire. Sometimes a little too close for comfort. 

He wonders if this was why never talked after Harvardville. She was just a click away, after all—there was Chris, the brother she adored, but he couldn’t quite stand sometimes. And there was Sherry. But the mere thought of it brought him back to that moment when he couldn’t quite comfort her the way he used to nor bring himself to give so much as a reassuring squeeze.

And then he thinks that perhaps this is the way it always was. That she was better off without him, much like the other people in his life. If anything, it was too late now.

* * *

Sometime after the fiftieth biohazard, things eventually died down a little. More countries began to chime in on legislative and executive measures to counteract bioterrorism, and a crackdown on companies, governments, and organizations that made use of these measures were made. The dispensation of the vaccine worldwide was made a top priority. And while there were a few odd individuals here and there who still made use of BOWs, the BSAA and Blue Umbrella had enough resources to go after them before they presented a worldwide threat.

But while things weren’t exactly the way they used to be, it did allow some quiet moments. And during such a time, Chris suggested a quick celebration.

She couldn’t help but snicker a bit. It just wasn’t like him—if anything, he was more of a workaholic than she was, and way too serious to party. But then he mentioned how Barry really wanted to get together, and how Jill and Parker and even the guys at the DSO were willing to chip in, even for just one night. It was the holidays, after all.

“And Sheva’s planning to fly in this weekend.”

“Well look at you,” she teased, something Chris didn’t particularly like. But she had to hand it to him, anyway. He’d already been through so much.

They’d already been through so much. 

"And by the way, Claire,” he said, just as she was making a turn. “Leon’s coming, too. Thought you should know.”

She probably hit the brake a little too hard.

“Oh,” she said, phone secure between her cheek and shoulder.

“Oh? I thought you’d be a little more excited.”

A pause. In her heart of hearts she knew he was right—that she should be a little more excited, it’s been more than twelve years for God’s sake—but she just couldn’t. Over the course of a decade, it was as if Leon had turned from friend to legend, someone she only knew through Chris’ ramblings. And she didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Of course I’m excited,” Claire lied, glad they were having this conversation over the phone and not face-to-face. “Some asshole just tried to cut me in line, per usual.”

“Just let him. Better a little inconvenience than a full-on road accident,” he replied, in that concerned, brotherly tone he never grew out of. At least it gave her a distraction. Eventually, she maneuvered her way out of the conversation and bade goodbye, glad she didn’t have to broach the topic.

But they’d have to, sooner or later. She wasn’t sure when or why Leon became a touchy topic. It wasn’t like he abandoned her or did anything wrong. But perhaps it was precisely that. The fact that nothing bad happened between the both of them made things even worse.

* * *

Midway into the party, most of the attendees were either drunk or chatting up a storm. It was comforting, in a way—both because it gave a sense of warm kinship and allowed her to retreat into her thoughts.

She’d finally met Rebecca in person, who also found it funny how they’d only met then despite their long involvement in Chris’ life. Sheva was equally brilliant, with her sharp wit and knowing smile. Whenever they huddled to chat Claire saw Chris look over in concern, and impishly she wondered if he regretted bringing them all together. Barry and Moira came a little bit later, while Sherry, Hunnigan, and some DSO staff arrived after. Even a few Blue Umbrella reps joined, somewhat sheepishly, but after a few drinks and backslaps from Barry, they eased up a bit more in their presence.

And Leon was nowhere in sight. 

Claire desperately wanted to find solace in the fact. Here, she was surrounded by people she loved without any immediate threat, bioweapon or otherwise. And her biggest concern was nowhere to be found. She should be happy. She should be enjoying this. 

But she couldn’t.

“Claiiire,” came a voice, and suddenly Sherry Birkin had her arms around her in drunken stupor. While it was nice to see her happy, Claire wasn’t too keen on her drinking beyond her limit. Looking to Barry for answers, it only took a second to decipher the shot glass in Moira’s hand and the grin on her face.

“Moira,” she said, sighing. The girl waved her hand and winked.

“Hunnigan said we could play a drinking game!”

Amid Hunnigan’s protests, Claire took it as an opportunity to steer Sherry towards a couch and convince her to take some water. Before long, the girl was fast asleep, and she was at least secure in the fact that Hunnigan was there to watch over her.

She’d grown so much, Sherry. And so strong. 

She’s not sure she could say the same thing about herself.

“Claire,” came Chris, and she gave Sherry one last look before heading towards him. At least Hunnigan is here this time. At least she’s safe.

“Yeah?” she says, noting the phone in her brother’s hand. He seemed concerned.

“I can’t reach Leon,” he said, plainly. “Not sure if he’s just flaking off or something, but I feel like there’s something’s wrong. Could you try calling him on your cell?”

It was like a lump had lodged itself in her throat.

“Yeah, sure,” she said absentmindedly, hoping Chris didn’t notice. Never mind that she wasn’t sure if Leon had changed his number or not. Or if he wanted to hear from her either. “I’ll just see if I still have the right number.”

“I could give you his current, if you want.”

“Sure,” she said, the lump growing larger. Reluctantly, she took his phone and dialed in the number, waiting for an answer. 

She honestly hoped he wouldn’t respond.

Words couldn’t describe the relief she felt when it stopped ringing.

“He’s not answering my call, either.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Maybe I should go see if he’s alright.”

Calls from some drunk BSAA operatives seemed to prompt otherwise, and she noticed Chris’ brow furrow like it often did when he felt conflicted. 

She knew what she had to do, and she didn’t like it.

“I’ll handle it,” she said, ignoring her own discomfort and faking a smile. “Can’t keep your guests waiting, after all.”

He looked concerned, as always. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little too brightly. “I’ve got an earful for him that’s long overdue.”

That was the thing, however. She wasn’t sure if she had anything to say.

* * *

The apartment complex was faded and reeked of decay, with trash littered across the corridors and termites hovering around light bulbs. The whole place was a health hazard, like one wrong move could warrant a skin infection.

He didn’t really care, to be honest. The dilapidation suited him just fine—surely no one would bother finding him here. 

Sluggishly, he looked down the bottle in his hand—a large whiskey type obviously not made for drinking up straight. It doesn’t stop him anyway, and before long he’s downed another bottle, twice in a row.

The dinner he prepared for two was probably rotting by now, but to hell with that. He doesn’t know why he even tries sometimes, especially when she gave him so little to run on. But maybe it was precisely that: that perhaps he was just looking for something to look forward to, no matter how dismal it was.

Then there was Chris and his stupid party, which he should’ve gone to in retrospect. It was probably better than drinking himself to death; at least some people would talk him out of it. But as he watched his phone ring and vibrate, he couldn’t help but think he’d sooner tell Chris to go fuck himself than go to that pithy get-together.

He was hard on the man, he knew. Deep down, he knew Chris was only doing this because he cared. But he couldn’t bring himself to accept that.

A few raps on his door interrupted his self-pitying tirade, but he was too boozed up to notice. Or, if he did, he assumed it was a trick of his imagination. Eventually, the knocking became persistent, and out of habit he took the pistol on the table, slowly approaching the door.

It better be Redfield.

“What do you want, Redfield?” he said, perhaps a little too angrily. Not surprisingly, he was greeted with silence.

He took a more cautious stance as he inched towards the door, ready to neutralize any possible threat. With a finger on the trigger, he paused for a moment to assess the situation before looking through the peephole.

“I think you’ve got the wrong Redfield.”

And his hands suddenly felt so, so cold.

Almost instantaneously, he found himself opening the door—to hell with it whether it was a decoy or not. But there she was, auburn hair and all: a specter of the past he never thought he’d face again.

Claire Redfield.

She was real.

“Hey, Leon,” she said, almost reluctantly. 

For a moment, the two just stood there in silence, awkward as it was. Once again, she found the lump in her throat forming, like a cold stone that forced its way down her esophagus. What was there to say, anyway? Good to see you? How have you been? Her eyes darted around what little space they had in search of a topic, before landing on the small dining table just off the living room.

“I see you’ve been waiting for someone.”

Instinctively, he rested his head on the doorway. “Not really. She was a no-show.”

“That’s too bad,” Claire said, voice like tin. “So I guess you wouldn’t mind a little company?”

He paused for a moment, trying to fight out of the fog and haze that descended in his head. “Yeah, sure. Just come right in.”

Somehow, the unexpected arrival sobered him a bit. He found himself consciously trying to hide his staggering steps, even if he knew his breath had already given him away. Even if his table was a mess of alcoholic drinks and a strange milieu of food combinations.

Claire didn’t seem to mind, despite noticing it all. If anything, she seemed uneasy about another thing, but he couldn’t tell what.

“Chris wanted to check on you,” she said, finally. “He was worried when you didn’t answer your phone or went to the party.” 

Slumping on the couch, the words hit him and made him laugh, almost bitterly. “That’s it? Really?” Slowly, he rested his legs on the table, moving the bottles aside with his feet. “Well, it’s nice to know he’s concerned. Especially if he sent you just to check up on me.”

“Leon,” she said, with a lilt he was familiar with. It was a warning.

“So,” he continued, arms resting on the headrest. “Is there anything else Chris wants to tell me? Or is that it?” He knows he’s in dangerous territory now, but he couldn’t stop—there was something about the mixture of shock, and disappointment, and hurt that kept him going, even if he knew he was an asshole at this point. Her silence just prodded him further.

“I mean if that’s all you've got that’s fine by me. Just tell Chris I’m fine, and I’m sorry I couldn’t go to his party, okay? Now if you’re done here, the door’s just right there so you could see yourself out and—”

“Leon, what the  _fuck_  is wrong with you.”

The words hit him like a bucket of ice to the face.

She was seething now, he knew. But not in a way he expected. It wasn’t plain anger or hatred—he could see the same hurt, the same disappointment that he felt reflected in her eyes, and it stung. But he just couldn’t back off now.

“Me? What the fuck is wrong with  _me?_ ” he said, voice rising. “I’m not the one barging in here after more than a decade just to play messenger for someone else! Is this really all it took to talk to me, Claire? Am I that inconsequential to you?”

“That’s not true,” she said, teeth gritted. “That’s not true and you know it. When I keep tabs on Sherry I keep tabs on you, and you fucking know it. I have fucking  _voicemail_ from Hunnigan to prove it.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’ve been busy all the time trying to save someone else’s ass,” he said, matching her tenacity. He knew deep down he shouldn’t be doing this, but he was all riled up and couldn’t stop. “I did say we could meet some time a little more normal, didn’t I? Well, things haven’t been exactly normal, have they?”

“They are now,” she said, like she was wrenching out a response. Like she was holding back tears.

“Are they really?”

The silence felt heavy and suffocating, like a dark, tar-like liquid. They couldn’t even look each other in the eye.

It shouldn’t have escalated to this point, that much he knew. And with the guilt finally getting through to him, he knew he had to do something.

“Claire...”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Leon,” she said, voice soft and hollow. It made him feel even worse.

He gave a sigh. “Claire, why don’t you sit down. There’s plenty of space on the couch.”

Her eyes finally met his, with stinging clarity. Hurt. All he could see was hurt. “Okay,” she said, almost under her breath.

For a moment, they just sat there, trying to find the words to say. And after more than a decade of silence, it wasn’t an easy feat. For the most part, they stared into the distance, trying their hardest not to catch the other’s eye. 

“You cut your hair,” Leon said, breaking the silence. It was so obvious that it sounded dumb, but it was better than nothing. Instinctively, Claire reached out for the shortened ends.

“Yeah,” she said. “I had surgery some time back and had to chop some of it off. Apparently it takes a while for it to grow back.”

“Oh,” he responded. “What happened?”

“It’s a...” she said, taking a strained breath. “It’s kinda a long story.” A pause. “How about you? I heard you still had a thing with Ada going.”

“Oh. That,” he said, a little flatter than usual. “To be honest, I’m not so sure myself.”

“I see.”

It wasn’t exactly the greatest conversation, but it was something. He felt numb, still, but slowly it was like something had begun to thaw.

“It’s kind of funny,” Claire said, and immediately he averted his gaze towards her. She gave a little bitter chuckle. “When this whole mess started out, you were the first person I turned to when I was looking for Chris. Nowadays, he’s the one telling me what’s been happening with you.”

For some reason, that amused him. “I reckon they aren’t good stories.”

“Not really. More like updates in passing,” she said. “Sometimes when he tells me these things, I feel like he’s talking about some co-worker at the BSAA or some old war buddy. The Kennedy Report this, or Glenn Arias that. Like you weren’t someone I actually knew. And I sometimes wonder if I actually did.”

Perhaps it was because he drank too much, or because it was the middle of the night, but as she told him this the realization sloshed around a bit in his head, evading actualization. When it did, however, it was ice-cold—cutting through any shred of doubt he carried over the past 13 years or so.

Maybe she didn’t hate him after all.

“You’re always going to be the one I went through Raccoon City with,” he said, reassuringly. “Nothing’s going to take that away from us.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly spend much time together,” she said, a little ruefully. It reminded him of a kid going through a phase, to the point that it was almost cute.

“Doesn’t matter. It was still you,” he said, smiling. “This is probably gonna sound wrong, but back then, I was just glad there was someone out there who went through the same thing. That I wasn’t alone. That even when you were out finding Chris, I knew there was someone I could talk to about the outbreak.”

“Then why did you stop talking to me?” she asked, but this time it was devoid of all pain or anger. Now, it was a genuine inquiry, subtly laced with concern. He shrugged, a little guiltily.

“I dunno,” he said. “I guess I was in shock? Or maybe I didn’t want to hurt you or something. You had the whole thing with Sherry, and Chris, and... Steve, right? I dunno,” he continued, leading his head back on the sofa. “I guess I didn’t want to be a burden or something.”

She gave a small smile. It reminded her a bit of his Raccoon City self.

“You wouldn’t have,” she said, turning to face him. “I think, more than anything, it would’ve made things easier.”

Facing her, he couldn’t help but notice how kind she looked, how close they were. Kind of like their time in Raccoon City, when she was scared but trusted him nonetheless and he believed in her and wanted to keep her safe and how they both were before everything turned to shit. It was almost symbolic, in a way, as if the gulf between them had slowly closed in. That even in the years that passed, or the many partners he’d have, she would always be that one constant after all this time.

“And just so you know,” she said. “I didn’t just go here because Chris told me to. I think I always wanted to, but... I guess I just didn’t know how.”

It was surprising how much relief that gave him. “I guess that makes the two of us.” 

And for the first time since Harvardville, he heard her laugh.

* * *

Sometime after, she took care of Leon as she did Sherry—gave him water, stirred him towards an actual bed—and as she was about to head for the sink, he grasped her wrist, almost in a panic. 

“Claire, wait.”

The urgency in his voice brings her to him immediately.

“Leon? What’s wrong?”

“Are you leaving?”

She furrowed her brow, much like how Chris does when he’s conflicted. Sometimes she wonders if it runs in their family, this feeling of being torn.

She wonders if that’s all she really feels now.

“I can’t stay for long,” she said, quietly, placing a hand on his. “But if you need me, you know where to find me.”

Her heart felt so painfully full, like it would burst any second now. 

The way he looked at her seemed to bring her one step closer to that.

“Okay,” he said, in a half-doze. “And Claire?”

She leaned in to hear him more clearly. “Yeah?”

All he could muster was a soundless mumble before he fell asleep. And to an extent, part of her was glad he did. She had enough for tonight.

Before leaving, she tidied up things a bit—cleaned the dishes, cleared the bottles—and once things looked a little more livable, she placed a glass of tomato juice on his bedside table with a little note. 

She knows she couldn’t be there for him all the time, as much as she’d like to. But at least this should suffice.

* * *

When he first wakes up, he’s surprised at how mild his hangover felt compared to all the other nights. He could’ve sworn he downed two bottles of whiskey, but his body feels otherwise—it’s an enigma he couldn’t quite process.

His room doesn’t quite feel like his room, either. It’s much more... cleaner, even smelling of the fresh lemon Lysol he kept in his cabinet for God knows how long. Before he rattles his head for a culprit, however, the answer is right in front of him, written on a yellow post-it note.

Groggily, he reached for it and brought it up to his face, and but before he got to the signature, he already found himself smiling, knowing perfectly well who’d be responsible for this.

_Leon,_

_Drink this glass of tomato juice once you wake up. As is. DO NOT SPIKE WITH VODKA. Sherry and Chris have my number in case you want to chat._

_Love,_

_C_

There’s something about the letter that makes him inextricably happy, and for the next few minutes, he just stared at it until Hunnigan called him for another round of scolding and an update on his whereabouts. He tried to talk his way out, as per usual, but afterwards he finds himself lithe and limber as he downs the tomato juice and prepares for the next mission.  

Claire is his friend again, and all is right with the world.

But there’s something that still isn’t quite right yet, however. Twisting in his gut ever so slightly, he had yet to decipher what this strange feeling was.

He’d find out soon enough.

* * *

Work after the holidays involved a lot of paperwork, as it turned out, with reports and projections and memorandums galore piling up as TerraSave prepared for the next five years of operations. Needless to say, it left a lot of them in a slump for a good part of the day—particularly Moira, who seemed bored out of her mind.

“These numbers don’t even make sense anymore,” she whined, stretching across her table. Claire just smiled.

“You’ll get used to it.”

The girl just pouted, giving the monitor a mournful scowl. Amused, Claire carried on with her report in silence, until Moira had stirred again.

“I think it’s high time for a break,” she said, with renewed vigor.

“Moira.”

“Come  _ooon_ ,” she whined, still keeping a pleading grin. “We’ve been here for hours, Claire! We could play like a round of crazy eights or something.”

“Or maybe my daughter needs to get her ass back on the job,” came a good-natured voice, and Moira just pouted, watching as Barry came over to their cubicles.

“ _Dad_.”

Claire couldn’t help but suppress a smile. “What’s up, Barry?”

“Some exciting news, for once. We’re back on the field next week.”

Moira whooped.

“Fuck yeah! I can finally get out of this cubicle!”

“You’ll still have to do the paperwork when you come back,” Claire teased, with the other girl sticking her tongue out in reply.

“I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you though,”  Barry said. “It’s gonna be one of those joint missions, so we might have to dial it down a bit.”

“Joint mission?” Claire said, curiously. “Who are we going to work with this ti—”

Then she felt it, the cold hand on her shoulder that was neither Moira’s or Barry’s. With an uncharacteristic jolt, she gripped the hand and spun about, ready to face its owner—

—and found Leon Kennedy instead, with an impish smile.

A wave of indecipherable feeling crashed over her then and there, and  she froze, trying to retrace her bearings. “Good God,” she managed to say, bringing a hand to her forehead. “Leon, you scared me.”

“Just wanted to check up on my partner before the big meeting.”

“... Partner?” she blurted, the question hanging in the air.

“Yeah,” Leon said, casually. “Or, well, you’ll understand once we get to the meeting. See you in fifteen. Barry. Moira.” With a lithe nod of the head he greeted the two, disappearing as quickly as he came.

Baffled, Claire stared at where the man once was, as if to process everything that had happened. Barry just shrugged, continuing from where he left off.

And Moira smirked, a devilish glint in her eye as she looked over at the woman.

“What was that all about?”

She wasn’t sure she had the answer to that, either. But there was a warmth there, a lightness, and while a suitable explanation seemed elusive, something told her things were going to be just fine.

“I don’t know,” she stated, plainly, then turned to the younger woman with a smile. “I guess we’ll find out in fifteen minutes.”


End file.
